Early Morning Musing
by beguiledbythephantom
Summary: Christine wakes before Erik and she thinks back on the events that brought them to this place.


Erik normally woke up before me and by the time I got myself out of bed he had already showered and was engrossed in creating his current opera, well one of his current operas. The last time I looked through them he had about four unfinished and was starting a new one. Erik was a creature of habit so on a chilly December morning when I woke up to find the most feared phantom in all of Paris still sleeping and judging by the morning sun it had to be sometime after ten I did not allow the opportunity to simply study him pass through my fingers. I was laying half across his chest and his arms were loosely wrapped around my waist. I lifted my head to get a better look at his face. Since we moved out of his lair under the Opera house and into a small house outside of Paris it was a very rare sight to see him without his trusty white mask on, except for when we slept and I couldn't really look at him while I was sleeping myself. I realized in that moment while the morning light filtered through the window that I missed the distorted skin on the right side of his face. It was honestly one of my favorite parts about him. He was still shocked every time I willingly ran my fingers over the mangled skin and even more so when I pressed my lips against it. The twisted skin was smooth and extremely soft and I was simply fascinated by it, almost more so then I was with his hands.

I didn't push the mask subject because I knew moving out of the safety of his night and into the world was a lot for him, even though it was his idea. However, I know he is starting to become comfortable here because the other day I came home to find him working without his mask on. I simply graced his right cheek with a kiss and went into the kitchen to make dinner. He didn't put the mask back on until the next morning. My hands worked their way across his face. As my fingertips outlined his lips they parted slightly and I felt his warm breath tickle my skin as he sighed. I halted my moments in fear that I had awoken but his breathing was still deep and after a few moments of no movement I returned to caressing his face. Many people could not understand how I was able to kiss him, let alone allow his lips to touch my body.

After a very busy week that allotted me no time to see Erik, he made quite a public claim on me. It was during the last performance of opening week when the booming voice of the Phantom echoed through the Opera. To this day that voice still sends chills down my spine. Anyway, I don't remember much of what he said but it was something along the lines of Christine Daaé was his and if anyone even thought of harming me then they would deal with him. The lights went out and within seconds I could feel him standing only millimeters behind me. I instinctively leaned back into him. His breath skimmed my ear and caused goosebumps to appear all over me, as he whispered to hang on. Then the lights came back on and the Phantom wrapped his arms around me, triggered the trap door and we fell onto the padded area beneath the stage. As he gathered me in his arms and carried me down into his lair we could hear the panicked voices from above and shouts to find Christine. I chuckled and wrapped my arms tighter around his neck. Later that evening when we found ourselves in front of the fire with tea I asked him why he interrupted the performance. He gave me a wicked smile and stated he missed me, like it was the most obvious thing in the world and wanted his weekend to start a little early. The Opera had kept me away from him too long and he figured they could live without me for a few extra hours.

That was merely six months ago and now all of Paris knows that the daughter of the great Gustave Daaé was soon to be Madame le Fantôme de l'Opéra. At the thought of that my eyes instantly went to my left ring finger. Erik's gold ring sat at the base. I couldn't help by smile at it. He gave it back to me the morning he brought me to our new home, he got down on one knee, removed his mask and wig and with tears in his eyes asked me to become wife. I couldn't speak and simply nodded. His lips curved into a smile that even the angels would have been jealous of as he stood up, slipped the ring onto my finger and wrapping his arms around me in a crushing hug. We were officially moved in with two days. Most everyone leaves us alone but Meg comes over at least once a week to visit. During her last visit she seemed a little off and half way through the visit I realized why as the Vicomte de Changy showed up to pick Meg up. She turned to me and quickly asked if I minded. I told her it didn't bother me at all, I am with my soul mate and Raoul would treat her well. She gave me a quick hug and rushed out the door. I haven't seen her since.

The thought of Raoul still hurt, not so much that me & Raoul would never be but the thought that I had almost lost Erik. Yes I love Raoul but not the way I love Erik. Erik is everything I've ever wanted and Raoul was a nice reminder of my childhood and more importantly my father. It was honestly Raoul's idea that I go back to Erik. He knew that deep down I would be happier with him and that we weren't meant to be together. I truly do hope Meg and him work out. Erik's groggy 'morning love' pulled me out of my inner musing. I blinked a few times to refocus them on his face to find his green eyes sleepily staring back at me. I realized somewhere between tracing his lips and getting lost in my memories my fingers had moved onto his left cheek and were absentmindedly tracing patterns on his skin.

The texture of his left cheek was not as I always found it. He had a slight stubble forming. I moved my head closer to get a better look and to make sure I wasn't going crazy but just as I had felt he did indeed have hair on his cheek. Before I could stop the words I blurted out "Erik, I didn't know you could grow a beard." I could feel his laughter vibrate through his chest. "Christine I certain would not call this a 'beard'. The hair only grows on the left side of my face and looks quite funny if I do not shave it every morning." As he spoke of shaving he gently detangled himself from me and moved to get off the bed. Before he got too far I grabbed his arm and asked very softly, "Can I shave your face?" He looked back at me like I had asked him to run through Paris naked. "You want to shave my face?" The confusion was very clear in his voice.

"I used to watch my father shave and dreamed of someday shaving my husband's face. It seems like such an intimate act and would require a lot of trust between both parties. I simply figured since you," I half heartedly gestured to the right side of my face, "that you simply didn't grow facial hair. I never really thought that there wouldn't be a reason why it wouldn't grow on the left side." By the end of my small speech I had stood up and moved to stand in front of him, both of my hands cupping his face. He raised his one eyebrow and acted as if in deep thought. "If it makes my love happy then I can not deny you this simple request." With that he took my hand and lead me to the wash room. Before I placed the razor against his skin I realized he would never deny me of any request even if it was near impossible and if anyone had seen the feared phantom of the Opera right at that moment, sitting in a chair in the middle of our wash room, shirtless with shaving cream on only half of his face and the prima donna of the Opera Populaire standing between his legs with a straight razor in her hand, shaving the left side of his face his reputation as the Phantom would be completely ruined.

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